


Guided & Beguiled

by Space_Interrobang



Series: Herald Of Change [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I swear this is an uplifting story, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Original Character(s), Other, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Slavery, Trust Issues, but i'm not gonna ignore that they happened, the tags look scary but it's all non-graphic, this is focused on the healing from those things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26160646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Interrobang/pseuds/Space_Interrobang
Summary: After 10 years in chains, she finally found the opportunity to run in the shape of a wall of fire and an outstretched hand. She took it. With no knowledge of how to survive outside of city streets, will she be able to outrun the hunters alone, or will she have to risk trusting her escape to this stranger? It won't be easy, learning who she is after the scars, but with a little guidance, anyone can realize their strength and light within. After all, the most potential for growth comes after the ash.A pre-Inquisition story of my original Inquisitor and her journey leading up to the conclave.
Relationships: Felassan (Dragon Age) & Original Female Character(s), Felassan (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Felassan (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Herald Of Change [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899676
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a coping mechanism years ago. I've re-written this series so many times, but I'd like to share it now. Writing characters healing and finding purpose/love/friends/etc helped me work through/understand some stuff, and maybe if someone else out there needs that comfort as well, I hope reading this can help you smile too.

Running is the first thing she remembers. The burning of lungs and legs and laughter. Coherency didn't matter, only that she had to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. Blurred motions of dense forest, following a figure ahead. The memory of what she saw was foggy. But the smell. The sounds. The intent. Those were crystal. Run. Run with a stranger she was sure was helping. Burning wood and flesh; scent rancid even on her tongue. Screaming. So much screaming, and hissing, and pulses of explosive energy forcing her feet faster.

Everything burned. Her whole body washed with an intense, clear, blank bliss. Images assaulted her mind, thrashing and sudden, then lighting forced her onto her back. Agony pricked and seized her muscles. Strings pulled through every vein in her body, stretched and sharp and shaking. A voice that didn't sound like her own yelled as her back arched, whiteness and blackness and faces, voices, places, scream at her. Why did everything feel so thin and fragile, and why did the distance taste like sorrow?

Her body went slack.

Blinking, weary, the woman looked up to see violets. A cold sweat forced a chill up her spine, highlighting the aches smattered along her legs and back.

No, not flowers. Eyes. A mild, calm voice spoke; muffled like she was underwater.

"It is good to speak with you properly, da'era."

A pressure on her back forced her upright until she was leaning back against bark. The woman looked down at her form: tattered, bloodstained. Upon deciding she was alive and able to move, she looked up to the muffled voice as everything focused.

It was an elf; older, presumably Dalish, presumably a mage. His features were curved in elegant, storybook lines, wisdom carved into his skin in dark ink. Long black hair had been braided over his shoulder. His cloak was pulled tightly around him so the rest of his figure stayed mostly hidden.

"Can you hear me, I said?" the elf spoke, lips pursed quizzically. She nodded, brought out of her stupor. A smile stretched across his face, crinkling his tattoo at the corners of his eyes. "I am glad to hear it. I healed you as well as I could last night, but as you no doubt feel, I lack skill in that particular branch of magics. We were in such a rush to get away I never properly introduced myself. People call me Felassan."

His accent was foreign, words crisp and lilting. The Anderfels, perhaps. Or perhaps not. Tevinter wasn't exactly a tourist destination. However, whatever a Dalish would be doing to find themselves in Tevinter of their own volition was nothing short of ludicroucy.

The woman opened her mouth, but couldn't find her voice through the dryness. He handed her a waterskin. She put the hide to her lips and tipped it back. The lukewarm liquid smoothed the roughness in her throat.

"I already know your title, Alexandria Castien. You are quite the curious creature, running into places you know nothing about."

"Why did you--what happened?" Her voice was quiet, and he took the waterskin to loop it back on his belt. She stretched her limbs. Her thin fingers reached out then curled; the cool, russet complexion interrupted by scars and freckles. The stiffness was familiar.

"Ar lasa mala revas. You are free."

The words echoed around her. She sobered instantly. "The ruins. The forest. You...you just appeared, and-and we ran."

"We did do quite a lot of running, yes," Felassan replied, amused.

Alex turned her whole body toward the elf. "Is this real?"

"You are not dreaming, if that is your meaning."

"I...don't have a way of showing my gratitude. I've been trapped by Noceus' side since I was a girl."

"Focus on continuing south for now. That is where we must be heading."

"South?"

"That is where a Dalish clan lies. I have spent time with them before. They should shelter you for a time."

"Not your clan?"

He smirked. There was something secretive in the gesture that she couldn't linger on, thoughts sprinting like she was still escaping. Which she was, she supposed. Noceus would return to the city and send hunters to reclaim her. The brand on her hip itched at the idea, and she tried to focus her mind on the immediate. That being the strange elf and the questions surrounding him.

"Their welcoming parties are far less hospitable."

"How do you know my name? Aren't you Dalish? Why would you provide a human shelter? What about Noceus? He'll be furious."

"Calm yourself, da'era. First we must move forward. We cannot stay in one place too long. Are you able to walk on your own?"

Alex put her queries aside for the moment. If she really was going to run away to be free like she'd always dreamed, distance was key. Her value to her master might bring the price for her return up, or he might make good on past threats to send mage-hunters after her instead of mercenaries. The ferocious warriors had culled her in to frightened submission long before this, standing guard at formal functions; a silent threat with an angry hum beneath their skin. To think of facing one of them in a fight had her legs feeling restless already.

She braced a hand on the trunk of the tree she had been leaning against, then pushed herself on shaking legs to her feet. It wasn't the most stable, but traveling was doable.

"Good. Without a horse it will take close to a fortnight of travel to avoid being suspicious."

"Suspicious?"

"Do you believe an injured human and an elf walking on the Imperial Highway is a normal sight?"

"I suppose not," she admitted.

"Then we keep off the roads."

She nodded in agreement. He hesitated, scanning her up and down. The woman felt the need to straighten her posture at the unexpected inspection; shuffling her feet and glancing down. She was in a sad state, dress torn from snags on bare branches and singed at the hem on one side. Dark dried blood was smattered on the sleeve and frozen in a trail down her left leg. Red, almost brown, staining her skin where there used to be a gash.

"Take my cloak. Your clothes are obviously ruined."

"Thank you," Alex said meekly as he unclasped the dark material. A simple tunic with breeches were what he wore underneath. Any travelers clothes. But not a scratch on him. If she had blacked out, did that mean he carried her here? How did he avoid attacks? The woman was becoming more and more curious about him--and the dubious circumstances surrounding him--as time went on.

She attached the cloak around her shoulders, long sheet white hair spilling out over the back. Curling, jutting out in odd places. Uneven and unkempt. "Why do you want to help me?"

"Why do you trust me to help you?" he quipped back easily, that same light-heartedness to his tone that felt safe somehow. Then he began walking southward. Or what she could only assume was southward. Alex hurried to stay beside him, stepping over the thick brush of the forest. He moved smoothly and deliberately. Like a hunter familiar with the area.

"You fought for me," she answered thoughtfully. "And you could've killed me while I was sleeping."

The elf simply shrugged. "Perhaps I only stole you to sell you to the highest bidder myself."

"But you said I was free..."

His stride faltered a moment, shaking his head. "Damn." The smirk returned, angled past his shoulder to her. "I suppose I did, didn't I?"

What an odd person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for giving this a chance. This is planned out to be a trilogy of stories (1 pre-Inquisition, 1 during, and 1 post-game) but I'd love to hear any feedback or random thought/emojis/whatever. I hope life is kind to you.


	2. Beginnings

A few hours of silence passed as Alex gained her coherency back. Eventually she gathered her thoughts enough to organize the questions she wanted to ask Felassan, and called his name. He didn't glance back, but she knew he would be listening.

"May I ask you something?"

"A desire to learn should never be shunned," was his half answer. She took it as permission.

"How did you know my name and that I wanted freedom?"

"I am afraid those are very complicated answers not easily explained."

"Is there no way to simplify? I want to understand what's happening." There was a short pause before he answered again. Alex continued to trail behind him, and could not see the expressions he made.

"I am what shemlen call a dreamer. Do you know what that means?"

"It's the same as somniari in Tevinter isn't it? You can dream consciously in the Fade, bend it slightly, and choose when to come out or go in. But, if that's how you came to find me, why did you not call me Dracmar?"

"Your name is Alexandria."

"When I am by Noceus' side it is Dracmar. It translates literally to 'sea-dragon', but he fancies that I am his siren. Like from the childrens tales? I've grown quite fond of it."

"You shall never have to suffer being beside that idiot anymore." His stern words somehow made it more real. "He is an ego driven shemlen with no respect for other cultures. You are no such human."

"You don't know me..." Alex said with a frown, face heating.

Felassan looked over his shoulder. "I know you have been through suffering as wide as seas. That, da'era, is what makes your spirit so unique."

"So you saved me for my spirit?" she half laughed back.

He faced forward. "I dreamt nearby where you and your former chain-bearer camped, and saw potential."

"Potential for what?"

"Only time will tell."

"And why are you traveling alone?"

"I prefer the solitude."

"Would you prefer I stop asking questions then?"

"Truthfully? I would prefer to hear you speak. It is not often I travel with someone. Certainly a powerful mage could not have been a slave their whole life. You were taught somewhere presumably? Where are you from?"

"Tevinter," she answered simply. "Qarinus. Or, I suppose Ventus now. Hard to keep that straight. My parents are tradesmen at the port there. They are very reputable sailors."

"So they sent you to a Circle?"

"No. My magic didn't manifest until later. By then I was already under Noceus' service. He took me in when I was fourteen."

"Honey is sweeter when made from the flower that blooms late, so they say. That annoying, ominous 'they'." Felassan chuckled at himself. "Your parents did not object to a stranger taking you?"

"It's their job," Alex stated as if it was the most obvious thing.

"Ah, slave traders."

"They thought I didn't have magic, so they gave me the opportunity at a better life serving a noble family."

"How generous," Felassan rolled his eyes. "Forgive me if I am wrong, but it is my understanding that mages in Tevinter are citizens, not slaves."

"Most are citizens, but I am not the only mage under service to someone."

The elf hummed thoughtfully at her reply.

"Once it was discovered I could wield magic I trained, but I didn't do formal studies at the Circle. I learned enough to control what I had and a few other practical spells, but I've never been allowed fighting skills. I'm an outstanding healer, though, I swear."

"I never doubted," Felassan lilted. His hand reached for his belt where what looked like an old branch was tucked. When he pulled it free it twisted and grew into a large staff with a green stone caged in vines on top. He used it as a walking stick. "Why did this Noceus keep you after discovering your magic? It seems too much trouble for a noble to have that uncertain danger of an apprentice so near. Why not let you become a citizen once more? Get another pretty adornment?" The line of questioning held not so subtle malice.

"He said I was his favorite," Alex answered.

Felassan glanced back. There was pride to the words, but disgust hidden in the downturn of her lips.

"I never believed it."

"Of course not. A man afforded that amount of power will continue attempting to validate his stature even when he stands on a paper throne. And you always wanted freedom?"

"Yes."

"But never found the opportunity I gather?"

"I tried quite often at first, but the chances grew fewer with new restrictions, and eventually it...became too much to bare."

He nodded in understanding. "You look like you need to rest. Let us collect ourselves."

"I'm all right. I'm stronger than I look."

"It is also for me," Felassan told the woman. "There is a stream up ahead. You can wash all that blood and muck off."

She had to admit that sounded nice.

Once they reached said stream Felassan laid his staff down flat on the bank. The trees were still as thick as ever, but the hanging aroma of spiced meat kept drifting past. It made Alex' stomach growl.

"There is a small village not too far from here. Go ahead and wash. I will see if I can gather some supplies for our journey. That," he motioned to the staff. "Is for protection. Though I should not be gone long. Will you be all right?"

Alex nodded.

"Try not to wander far."

With that, he turned and disappeared toward the smell. Did he know they were close because of that? If so, his senses were far better than hers.

Alex took off the cloak, gingerly setting it by his staff, then stripped the rest of her torn clothes off. The only thing left in tact were her underclothes; dirtied wrappings going around her breasts, and then her hips down to mid-thigh. They were made to be sturdy. To withstand years of constant walking and chores and anything else that would wear normal clothes thin. She left those on.

Without material in the way it was easier to see where Felassan hadn't been able to fully close her wounds. The injuries had been minor, with the worst being a gash running up the outside of her left leg from when she'd blacked out and fallen. However, there were other tears from mysterious origin that had left one strap of her dress limp and another hole right at the hem on her side. Add lots of running and you get ruined clothes.

Alex gritted her teeth against the chilly water, stepping in to the creeks deepest point. As the current hit her knees she scrubbed what blood and dirt she could see off her body. Though cold, the stream flowing against her was refreshing. On the bank, she completed healing herself, then draped the then damp dress over herself. The cloak she left folded, and sat with it in her lap.

Her fingers skimmed over the thick material. It was course and faded. Though it looked as though it would have been the color of summer leaves when new, and she thought back to the previous day.

Noceus had brought her out hunting with him and a few others on the Magisterium in case they needed a healer, and for "something pretty to look at." Hence the dress. He was trying to strengthen their support. The title Imperial Archon was one thing, but the councils still dictated most of the day-to-day landscape. If Noceus wanted to stay in favor and be rid of opponents while placing upcoming allies, relations were paramount. It was The Game.

She had wandered, considering a mad dash for freedom, when a glimmer caught her eye. An alcove of sorts under the roots of a large tree. She got close enough to recognize it was much deeper than she originally thought. A cave, hidden away in the shadow. She had a strange feeling that going further in was the right thing to do. So she did. Past that, she can't remember. Not until she emerged. Noceus was shouting at a hooded figure to her right: Felassan. He conjured massive flames to spread in between them and the magisters like a wall. Sparks licked at her delicate dress and she jumped away, gawking at the bright heat flickering with red and orange and blue. The outer edges waved and warped at the temperature. She had never seen a spell that required so much energy cast with such ease.

Her master screamed furiously with the others over the cracking and sizzling of wood, cursing their threats over the wall. Felassan laughed. Then Noceus attempted an ice spell to clear a section to no avail. The flames only roared louder.

Felassan had laughed at their attempt to put out the fire that continued to burn hotter; spreading quickly through the underbrush and hissing at their feet. Alex could only recall being in awe. A person bold enough to attack the magisters, and daring still to laugh in their face. She thought him more free than any of the citizens of the cities, and quite possibly mad.

One of the men who came with Noceus that day galloped around the outer edge of the wall on a horse. He nocked an arrow on the bow he had previously been aiming at game all afternoon. They were like halla to the magister, but they did not petrify like one. Felassan held out his hand, she took it, and they ran.

Sitting by the stream, she silently prayed to whoever would listen, thanking them for this blessing. Alex had never wanted the life of a slave. This was her chance. Felassan was her chance to run. To learn to fight and be free. His staff sat in arms reach. She could take it and go, but would never make it far in the unfamiliar area that he seemed to have memorized. She would be caught before nightfall, and he might decide to rescend his rescue. The moment had to be right, but she did not trust this elf. The Dalish he claimed to be leading her toward could imprison or kill her on sight, or be a total fiction. He could be lying about freeing her. About being somniari. Toying with her before collecting a reward for returning the Imperium's property. That smirk could be him having fun manipulating her; getting amusement from listening to the fancies of an incaensor. Although, in her heart, she hoped his smile and words were genuine. He was kind enough to lend his cloak, and trusting enough to leave his weapon with her.

A shuffle of leaves snapped her to attention. It was him. He was carrying a bundle in one hand and a bag in the other. It looked like a travelers pack that you could sling across your shoulder.

"Are you all right, da'era?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," Alex smiled up at the elf, wiping her eyes. They had been wet it seemed.

"Oh good," he japed. "For a moment it looked as if you had been crying."

She slipped easily into her role of acting meek and naive, placating words directing away suspicion. "Just thinking how grateful I am you came along. I hate being chained to Noceus' side. He isn't a cruel master. Not like others. But he isn't kind either. I never have choices of my own. There's very little chance I would have accomplished this alone...so thank you."

"Now you can begin to put it all behind you. It will take time," he kneeled down, holding out the bundle. "But I believe you will be stronger than you ever thought possible. Take these. They are clothes to replace that dress."

"Thank you. You are too kind."

"If only you knew the half of it," he chuckled.

Alex got to her feet, crossed her arms, and pulled the fabric off her frame quickly. Felassan glanced down her body, noticing all the scars that littered her skin. Not leering, but curious. Some were more obvious on her upper arms and back; skin raised and repaired by scar tissue. Most were just the faintest of thin pale lines, but what seemed to get his attention was the pattern. She knew they were laid out too deliberately. If she was a strong healer like she said, she shouldn't have scarring. Her master liked punishing Alex by forcing her to heal naturally, and as his mind churned behind his eyes, she suspected he was coming to those conclusions himself.

Alex bent down and grabbed the new shirt. She turned it in her hands to find the bottom. Felassan's gaze wandered away from the silver scars to see her ribs poking through on her torso; limbs defined by muscle though they were thin. The product of being overworked and under-nourished. His nose wrinkled as he caught a glimpse of her brand, seared into the flesh of her hip.

"A kind master indeed," he muttered bitterly.

Alex pulled the shirt on. It was a washed out grey, and very loose. The breeches were a normal dark brown, but fit her better. She tucked the shirt in and used the dress as a sash, cinching it tight around her waist. No need to waste material.

"Now we eat and continue forward." Felassan opened the pack, pulling out two thick dried out strips of meat.

Alex accepted a piece. "What else do you have in there?"

"Only the meat."

Perhaps it would be best to steal the supplies in the night and flee this elf's side. Then she could at least place more ground between them. Until then Alex would continue the overly subservient charade. She had maintained it beside Noceus for a decade. It would be beyond foolish to trust the first person she met outside bondage. Let alone to follow a strange Dalish mage. It could only lead to more suffering. The Dalish were persecuted and sequestered from other societies by their own volition. They scorned outsiders, and mages outside Tevinter's borders were only fit to be locked up in Circles. The wisest action for Alexandria while she bided her time was inaction.

"It should last us a few days, but do not expect to eat anymore until we get closer to our destination. It is much harder to hunt there."

"Where would that be?" she asked.

"Have you ever heard of the Virthane clan?"

"No."

"Have you heard the frightful stories parents pass to their children about the Dalish?"

"There are many untrue tales about the Dalish."

"Yet how do you know they are untrue?"

"They all sound so ridiculous," Alex scoffed. "Kidnapping and sacrificing children?"

"Well, perhaps not those. However this clan in particular has kept solitude for generations. Safeguarding the oases hidden from wanderers. It has led to many frivolous stories about their demeanor. The shemlen on the edges of the desert warn their children of glowing eyes at night, like wild animals." The tall elf chuckled. "Their clan has embraced the intimidating tales. Even helping them to thrive. It keeps the shemlen away from their aravels, so they are content."

"What makes you so sure they won't drive me out?"

"Because I will be there to persuade them."

"Why do you care?" It had come out almost as a whisper. She instantly wished she had held her tongue. Felassan faced her directly. She looked up to meet his calm, unyielding gaze. Violet eyes sparkling. Joyous and full of life behind his unmoving features. Laugh lines crinkled his tattoos.

Maybe he didn't know why either. If she were to study him like she had learned being around courts and nobles her whole life she would observe the slight change in his feet; one standing wider like preparing a stance. And the sudden silence to the air. No wind or rustling leaves. As if the world around them was holding its breath. It was a subtle thing. A sign of a preparing spell. A very well disguised tell of a very talented and controlled mage. If she didn't know better, she'd find him intimidating. But his constant playful smile assured her; if he was controlled enough to conjure that massive flame the day before without scorching her or anyone else, then he could hide his tells if he wanted to. Everything was fine.

Felassan held out a hand. It took a moment for Alex to realize what he wanted, and handed his cloak back.

"No, no, not that da'era," he rejected softly and pushed it back to her chest. "Give me your hand." She hesitated, blinking at him, which made him chuckle. "Humans and their mistrust of my people. I will not harm you."

At the words her fingers instantly went to wrap around his with a lie rounding her lips. "No, I trust you, I swear it."

The corner of his mouth twitched up briefly, looking down and seeing the similarities in their hands. The callouses and softness. The blunt, dirt-caked nails. Admiring the contrast in her autumn's blush skin across his pale flesh. The numerous tiny scars from countless small incidents people don't bother to remember. Her freckles even traveled down to her hand; spotting random and rare compared to the splash around her eyes.

His thumb brushed over the back of the woman's hand, making a tingling sensation run down to her toes. The chill that had been present to her all day went away, and replaced by a heat as companionable as if she had sunk into a warm bath. A pleased sigh passed the woman's lips. Felassan dropped her hand. The wind came back in her ears.

The elf then turned, retrieved his staff, and began walking again. She hurriedly donned the cloak and followed after him, forcing herself to savor the meat he had given though she was famished; mind set on continuing their journey. Alex let the quiet of the forest continue on for the last of the afternoon travel. Content in knowing she may never get more answers of how this all came to be, but Felassan would not learn anything more about her either.


	3. Teaching

When making camp, Alex was the one to light the fire while Felassan set up wards around the area. They were still in the jungles of Tevinter; spotted and black jaguars hunted at night along with several other deadly creatures. Not to mention the slave hunters.

The woman stared fixatedly at the flames, thumbs massaging her palms; a nervous habit. Something had changed. Obviously, but within as well. She felt changed. The Veil pressed upon her more harshly. More concrete. Perhaps it was just thinner here. Or the wards Felassan used worked differently than others she'd seen.

The night wind brushed the leaves and swirled the smoke of their campfire, carrying her thoughts with it. For a woman who was running for her life she was remarkably still.

Movement across from her lurched her eyes up to the elf who had sat down. The light danced harsh shadows on his face as well as hers. He was looking at her. More like studying intensely really. Irises glinted in the darkness like a large wild cat, reflecting the fire that seemed to extend every branch and tree root around them; turning them into talons grasping for their prey.

Since the sun retreated so did her courage to steal into the dark. Fear grappled her chest as her vision darted about. The blackness around their small area morphed each moving shadow into a slave hunter stalking her; ready to jump and drag her back to Noceus' side. The paranoia delayed her plans. When she was further away and she wasn't as liable to run into hunters...then she would take everything and escape alone. As it was she didn't even know how to fight or where they were in relation to any cities. With no direction and surrounded by so much uncertainty it wasn't the right time. The risk of being recaptured was still too great when weighed against traveling with a stranger.

When Felassan did not speak, she cast her eyes back to the fire. Focusing on the burning bark. Despite her not knowing anything about Felassan besides his wielding magic and being an elf, she thought him to be a good enough shield for now. Not just because he led her to her freedom, though that did make her biased. There was a gentleness to his actions. A sort of respect to her person. Mischievous and kind in equal measure. A lingering sadness hidden behind his bright eyes. A wise kind of sadness. Something that went beyond despair and loss. And perhaps that was a feeling she could sympathize with.

"I will have to teach you some spells to defend yourself," the elf spoke, startling Alex from her stupor. "You will not live long without knowing how to fight. What can you do currently?"

"Um, I picked up a few things from watching others, but...I'm not very powerful."

"One need not be powerful, only clever."

"I'm not sure I'm that either."

He shifted, legs bent and crossed, leaning on his knees. "My name actually comes from an old tale about the Elvhen god Fen'Harel. Long ago before the fall of Arlathan he was asked by a village to kill a great beast. He came to them at dawn, saw its strength, and knew it would slay him if he fought it. So instead, he shot an arrow into the sky. The villagers asked Fen'Harel how he would save them, and he replied, 'When did I say that I would save you?' and he left. When the beast came back that night it killed the warriors, and the women, and the elders. Then it came to the children and opened its great maw, but in that moment the arrow that Fen'Harel had loosed fell from the sky into the great beast's mouth, and killed it. The children of the village wept for their family and elders, but still they made an offering to Fen'Harel of thanks. He had done what the villagers had asked. He killed the beast with his cunning, and a slow arrow that it never noticed. Felassan means slow arrow in Elvhen."

"So I must be patient and willing to make sacrifices?"

Felassan smiled at her attempt in understanding. "I suppose that is one interpretation."

"What was Fen'Harel the god of?"

"Most Dalish clans will tell you he was the trickster god. He could walk among both the Pantheon and the Forgotten Ones alike. Never truly apart of either side. Coming to the people in their dreams to whisper clever ways of getting what they desired."

"Sounds better than all the selfish gods you normally hear stories about," Alex smiled faintly.

"Do you know the tales of the Elvhen gods?"

"Not really. Most of the elves in Tevinter grew up in slavery, and my mother refused to speak on it, but once in a while I'd see someone with markings like yours. There was a cooks apprentice a while back that I would overhear whispering prayers to Mythal while she worked. When I asked she told me she was begging for protection and justice against the men who took her from her clan. Past that I cannot claim to know."

"Let us start with what you do know, then. You said you are a healer. You mended what I could not last night."

"Yes...I don't wish to be any trouble to you, though."

"You? No. Not that I do not think you will be trouble. If you were not going to give me no end of trouble, however, this would be far too boring." Felassan outstretched an arm and a blade appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It flashed in the light. Dark red blood streamed off his forearm into the dirt.

Alex jumped over to him, already calling forth magic to her fingertips. She fumbled with the cap on the waterskin at his side and pulled his injury to her, closer to the light. The water washed away excess blood so she could see how deep the cut had gone. It wasn't life threatening, but no more time had passed than her glimpsing at the damage and red was already rising from the split in his flesh again. Pulling and pooling together before it could trickle down once more. Then her palm was on his forearm. He barely felt the sting of the fresh injury at all. She was already channeling her magic to the area. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, and a faint glow emitted from her hand. A cool calmness whispering, and the skin knit itself back together. Alex inspected one last time to be sure there was no scarring, then looked up defiantly at Felassan.

"What did that accomplish? aside from showing me you do not understand the dangers of bleeding yourself in a land of blood magic."

"For one, I have determined how to teach you." That insufferable smirk was twisting the corner of his mouth. He leaned closer. To the point she could see a small scar near the edge of his upper lip she had missed before. It was almost unnoticeable; blending in with the pale pink curves.

"There is a storm behind your eyes," he spoke. Fingers curled around her forearm, as she had not let go of his, and pulled the woman to standing with him.

She stepped back to create space from the unfamiliar touch, retracting her hands to her stomach.

"Let us begin. Do you have any knowledge of elven culture?"

"...nothing substantial, I'm sure."

"Then how do you explain the healing you provided?"

"...skill?"

"That was no Circle trick da'era. Who taught you?"

"I thought I could improve the spells I learned in books. No one else has complained of my changes."

"You discovered it on your own?"

"Did I not do well enough?"

"Apologies. I should not have assumed-" He stopped himself short, switching tracks. "I should not assume anything about you."

Alex studied his expression. It revealed nothing, and she was again left without answers to the questions surrounding his strangeness. But he had a point; no one survived on their own without knowing how to fight.

He turned and conjured a wisp of flame with the twirl of his wrist, floating in his palm. "We will begin with elementals."


	4. The Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is learning magic. She is learning how to survive outside the city. All her efforts will prove barren, however, if she does not learn outside of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen translations in the end notes using FenxShiral's lexicon.

She could remember the first time she witnessed death. Seeing a corpse already decaying at a funeral, or a whole roasted animal was different—far different—and those memories blurred together with the rest of the events of her childhood. But watching as life vacates the eyes of a living soul creates scar tissue. Eventually the twisting shame deafens to a slight twinge, but it was never something to be proud of. And it was never easy.

Her name was Veera. She had red hair like sunset on a warm night and a birthmark on her thigh shaped like Rivain. She showed Alex how to navigate through the estate, and how the master liked his quarters cleaned. She made funny noises to herself when picking things up. She was Alex' first friend after being sold.

The situation Alex was in hadn't fully set in yet. She was in denial, repeating the lies her parents had told her. An honorable position serving a noble name was an accomplishment. It was work that would help her family. She should be proud.

The world was brutal and swift with its lessons, and Alex' naivety kept her brave for a time; until she tried to enact a sliver of free will and it could no longer shield her. Veera called her mad for being so chipper and talkative, and as a scullery worker, no one was around to reprimand Alex except Veera, who was in charge of the master's personal rooms and more prone to being on edge.

Alex had finished all her duties for the day, and there was no sign of another mess, so she thought she could take a few hours and visit her parents for a meal. They lived on their ship, and there was a good chance they would still be docked, but she didn't make it that far. Guards captured her before she could even enter the lower district. After dragging her back they threw her at the feet of her master, sighting her escape attempt as cause for punishment. Alex fought back at first, saying she was free to visit her family, but Noceus had only laughed.

Since she was Veera's responsibility, her punishment went to her friend instead. Noceus had one of the guards beat the woman with fiery hair. The other guards kept Alex restrained as she screamed and begged for it to end. Veera tried to say something, but Noceus instructed the guard to strangle her to keep her silent, and strange garbled sounds wheezed out her lips like none she'd ever heard before. Then he took Alex' chin in his hand and smiled.

"I command everyone here," he said. "And they listen. They do not think or have desires beyond my own. You need to learn your new role among them, or you may join her. It's no difficult task to buy more of you. But I'd hate to waste another pretty thing."

Alex watched in horror as Veera's eyes bulged and turned bloodshot as her complexion washed red, then purple, and finally draining completely. Her limbs fell limp, and just like that there were no more odd noises. No more hands to hold through the cellars. No more admonishments given with a smile. No more smiles at all.

Alex was given Veera's duties in order for the master to keep a special eye on her, and for a while rage filled her, until it bubbled over and she realized it was grief. It was a difficult transition, to put it mildly. Pain was a close friend throughout her first few years in chains. There were other attempts—real attempts—at freedom, but every year Alex felt herself break a little more, and her will atrophied without use.

So it was rather unbelievable when Felassan told her that her spirit was unique. How would he know? And how was he so patient with her? What kind of person had come to move her life?

A hateful world was all she had known. Scars and blood. Metal and wine. Saltwater and leather. It shaped her as much as her magic did. She wished to escape that world; from the world of Dracmar. That slave girl was nothing now. Not after weeks of training to fight, she hoped. Another story must begin, but rekindling her will was no quick thing, and the damage had already been done.

Learning to cast dangerous spells was the most noticeable hurdle. Will was the sole proponent to pulling energy from the Fade. It was like trying to fill a ceramic bowl that cracked in the kiln; what little she could conjure was frail and fragmented. It often stuttered and went out. Violently, a few times, when she got frightened and stopped in the middle of casting. The backlash caused a small explosion, and they had to move on since their camp was so easily tracked. It left her with a nasty migraine, too.

That was another thing Alex hadn't anticipated being taught. There were so many small things she never thought about in the estate that were vital to survival in the wild. How to make shelter in the rain, how to know what water is safe to drink versus bathe in, what plants to avoid so they don't get rashes or an encounter with a poisonous frog. Even a simple thing like repairing torn clothing or drying out their feet at the campfire each night to help avoid blisters.

In just about every regard Alex felt like a child starting from scratch. She was learning what most people outside Minrathous knew since they could walk and wield a weapon. Felassan told her some Dalish become respected hunters for their clan by twelve. They already know how to provide for themselves and others, and all the knowledge that comes with the clan. History and craftsmanship, but above all as a hunter, the land.

In that particular spot, the trees were thinning. It would be their last day sheltered by nature. That night they'd begin their trek through the desert to avoid the scorching heat of the sun. And their dinner was sitting on its haunches balanced on a low tree branch. Its long ears were folded back, and its two tails wrapped around the branch to keep it secure.

Alex took a careful step closer, keeping low as she exited the underbrush. She kept the image of what she wanted in her mind as she summoned energy from the Fade. Magic pulled and pooled at her fingertips, and right as it began to bite, she lunged forward and cast it out.

The animal squeaked as its body was trapped in ice, and Alex let out a relieved sigh as she stood straight. It actually worked.

The leaves rustled behind her, and Felassan joined her in the opening. "I would have gone with fire, but a marked improvement from yesterday when you scared it off by missing. And the day before that when the trap failed and you panicked when the creature thrashed, creating that lovely firework. And the day before that when you encased my feet in ice."

"Yes, I get it," Alex cut in flatly. "I'm not good."

"I am impressed actually. You found a way to throw ice opposite the direction you were aiming for."

"Is that meant to be encouraging?"

"It was meant to bring a smile. You behave as if your life depends on every action you take."

"Doesn't it?"

"Only if you take it seriously."

Felassan stepped forward, but Alex halted him with, "No, no. This is my kill. I've watched you cook enough game now." She needed to improve her survival skills.

"As you wish," he shrugged.

So Alex went to the branch, took out the dagger lent to her, grabbed the creature by its ears, and sliced across its throat. She winced as the blood spilled out of the gash, down, and dripped onto the ground. The heat of it began to melt the ice over its chest, and Alex looked away as its eyes closed one final time.

Perhaps she should have felt satisfied with a hunting job well done; its purpose was to be food some day. Maybe Felassan felt something, or said prayers to the elven gods to thank them. She didn't know. She had no such rituals. She only had the scar tissue built strong and high around her heart.

"One question," Felassan prompted. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, and as he went back down the edge of his lips lifted up on one side. "Do you plan on putting that whole thing over the fire, or will you allow me to show you how to skin and gut the animal in preparation?"

She glanced down at the dagger. "I...hadn't thought that far."

"Of course not," he replied. "You have had me to hold your hand. Come, da'era. Set it on the ground just there and I will guide you through the process."

A child. She was an ignorant child. But prideful she was not. She was grateful to be taught, even if it mixed with a bit of guilt at not having such simple knowledge, and with a small sigh she went to do as she was told.

"Talent is a false construct," Felassan said and leaned back on a trunk, arms crossed. "What? No sarcastic inquiry?"

"I'm sorry that my conversation continues to vex you."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop apologizing. You need to push back and express yourself. Part of why you have this wall blocking your magic is lack of color. Your aura should be bursting, but you are afraid of freeing your imagination. Your heart wants to bleed, and scream, and cry, and laugh, but you dam up all your emotions right here." Felassan pinched his fingers together and pointed to the center of his chest. "Until you overcome this fear of the flood your learning will be meaningless. Barren, as it were."

A breeze came through as the elf kicked off the tree and circled closer to Alex. She was kneeling by that point, and picking the last bits of ice from the creature's fur so the blade wouldn't encounter obstacles. Felassan pulled his staff free, let it grow, and glanced through the gaps in the trees as he continued.

"But back to my point. Skill is built up over long periods of time and practice. It is the journey one takes toward mastering a craft. Talent is a word ascribed to neglected children to make them feel better about themselves. It is a party trick word, and has no correlation with hard work or magic. So-called 'talented' mages are either apprentices getting lucky, or wrongly labeled. Certainly some are born with more of an affinity toward the Fade like myself, but I had to do my drills, meditation and study every day, just as you are doing now. Twice as much, really, since spirits are drawn toward me more fiercely."

"But you were a child. And I can't even eat a full meal."

"Ah, but your appetite is returning, and you are cultivating muscles you were never allowed before now. Mistakes are opportunities to learn."

"Somehow it's hard to imagine you learning a fireball into your own face."

Felassan chuckled. "I was not always the epitome of charm and poise you see before you now. I was quite reserved in my youth, if you can imagine it. It created a block in my progress much like you are experiencing now. Of course, no one could truly learn everything there is to know, but that has not stopped me from trying."

Alex rounded on him with a bewildered expression. "You _try_ to fail?"

"I try," he corrected. Only, she still wasn't quite sure what the lesson was meant to be.

"So...how did you get through it?"

Unfortunately, the lesson ended when a barrier shimmered into being around them both and an arrow struck the front. It lost momentum going through, however, and fell to the grass at Felassan's feet. Then five men came rushing into view.

They were surrounding the two mages and closing in. Alex only had enough time to stand and recognize the chainmail armor of mercenaries before one was close enough to strike. His sword swiped across for her middle, and she jerked backwards to avoid it. In doing so, Alex bumped into Felassan. Her knuckles went white around the grip of the dagger, and her other hand grabbed at the elf's tunic. Suddenly her breath was short and her eyes darted around.

Felassan glanced sideways at the woman, hair as coiled as her muscles, shoulders raised. He strengthened the barrier. Behind them a third man pounded the pommel of his broadsword against the shimmering sphere, and blue ripples warped the view for an instant.

"That's her all right!" the first man to attack Alex called over his shoulder. He caught her eyes for a brief moment, and thin lips curled back over teeth in a possessive grin. "Pretty as a Rivaini whore, you are."

"You are harboring stolen property!" A fourth shouted from the treeline. The one with a shortbow. "That incaensor belongs to the Imperium! Return her now and walk away! You will not get another warning!"

Then Felassan ripped Alex' hand from his clothes, squeezing her wrist, and shook it between them to emphasize his words while forcing her attention to him; gaze stern and stalwart.

"Stay close and do nothing."

A spark lit in her chest. Small, but fanned and fanning out to coat her entire ribcage. It felt a lot like defiance.

"They will not have me." Though the words came out breathy, they fueled her rage and determination, and they were real. They made it real. Those five words became a mantra in her head, coating her nerves in metal. And if this was the moment he turned his back on her, she knew where to stick the knife.

There was a miniscule uptick to the corner of his lips. Something severe shadowed Felassan's irises as he turned to the slavers, and with a slam of his staff the ground began to shake and shift all around them.

The men lost their balance, and one of them fell over while the others stumbled. The one with the bow wrapped his arms around a tree for stability, eyes wide. The fifth dropped his sword.

Felassan used the moment to widen his stance and breathe. Then he spun and a massive burst of energy flung from his staff. The air crackled and sizzled as a wave of fire rushed outward in a circle. It scorched the top of the grass, and knocked the two men closest to their backs, screaming in agony as their flesh blistered and boiled. A few bits of underbrush caught the flames, and the man who dropped his sword frantically pat his sleeve to smother the sparks.

With one final crack, the earth split open, creating a crag between the mages and the three knocked prone, and the rumbling stopped. Felassan twirled his staff with a flourish behind him, and when it reached his other side it released a bright green light at the distracted mercenary. It connected with his chest with a crunching thud. The light penetrated his armor and swam up under his skin, glowing as it traveled up his throat and to his head. There was a fraction of a second of silence before the mercenary doubled over, clutched his ears, and wailed like a mother giving birth.

Alex didn't have time to take it in or wonder what was causing him pain however, because the archer was correcting his footing and pulling another arrow from his quiver. Upon glancing at Felassan, she realized he didn't see it, and his barrier was fading without his concentration. He was turning to the final swordsman who avoided his first attack and was now getting to his feet again. So Alex focused on the archer. He had pale skin, cropped brown hair, and the stance of someone who was used to fighting at a longer range; that is to say, too narrow. As he nocked the arrow on the string, she pulled energy from the Fade and threw it forward, willing him to freeze over like the animal from before. But he continued on.

"Fenedhis!"

Alex' breath caught. She cast it too early, and ice was instead on Felassan's left leg up to his knee. But she had to do something. So without thinking she charged at the archer.

The air opened up—louder—as she passed outside the border of Felassan's barrier. The arrow set, the mercenary drew back until his palm touched his chin as his bow raised. Alex' feet pounded on the grass. The archer aimed. She leapt at the mercenary, a primal cry leaving her mouth. The string snapped forward as his fingers loosed the arrow.

Alex' hands reached him first. Then her knees. He lurched backwards to the ground, but the woman hadn't considered the momentum throwing her entire body weight would cause, and after they huffed to the grass her upper body tried to keep going. Her head collided with the archer's, and her arms almost buckled in their effort to catch herself. It was like hitting a rock, and they both groaned.

Her sight doubled and darkened, but the mercenary was already dropping his bow in favor of his hands. Or he could have been reaching for a hidden blade, but with their difference in size she knew her odds.

Still trying to blink the blur out of her vision, Alex groped at the archer's chainmail as he squirmed, and she pulled the top edge down to expose his neck. A small pool of blood was by his head, staining the grass. Her entire body was numb but somehow keenly aflame.

People would speak about survival instincts like they become this whole other creature; as if they black out and magically get saved. But there was nothing other about the way Alex reveled in the give of the archer's skin as the dagger plunged into his throat. There was nothing magic about the way he gurgled and choked on the blood as it came pulsing out and fed the earth. And there was certainly not a singular detail Alex missed as the rich green color faded from his eyes—so much like Veera's.

His limbs went slack, and Alex realized she tore through her scar tissue. Rage and grief, and a lifetime of silence welled up inside her, knotting in her throat. Tears stung her eyes as she raised her blade, and she gritted her teeth as she stabbed into his cheek. It jerked his head, and his jaw fell open, and it wasn't enough.

Alex continued to thrust the metal indiscriminately. Gouges appeared in his chest and shoulders. Each was a friend, a stranger, a master. All the lives she was powerless to save. All the lives she wished to take. Now she could. Now she proved she could.

Both her hands gripped the dagger, trembling in their hold. Slick with blood. Chipped and dulling quickly from the abuse of putting it through chainmail. And she forced it as deep as she could in the center of his chest with a scream. Her back bowed, wailing into the disfigured face of the dead archer. The sound was wet and raw and ruined. Her hair raked over the gore, tinting the edges.

Alex stabbed again, jerking the blade toward his collarbone. Then again, and again, yelling her years to the void. Then words came mixed in. Decades of biting her tongue and all it gave her was a bloody, hollow grin. Now all manner of colorful curses and obscenities her native Tevene proffered spilled out through clenched teeth as she remembered all the sacrifices for party tricks, all the death seeped in injustice, all the unwanted hands and eyes greedy for humiliation. The times she caused it. The times she cowered and watched. The times she was ordered to partake. The feeling of Noceus slicing open her skin and how she was expected to hide the augmentation of his magic by healing herself. The times she heard screaming and walked away to do her chores. The vacant expressions of slaves who learned it was easier to not think of themselves as people, and how envious she was of their talent, and how she hated herself for wanting to give in.

She would not give in. This slaver represented everything she hated, everything that tried to smother her under its heel, and they would never get the chance again. Never again. Never again. Never. Never. Never. Ne-

"Alexandria! Enough!"

Fingers grasped her arms, and she tried to struggle, but found her muscles weakened and a stinging on her left.

"It is over!" he demanded, pulling her off of the mutilated and mauled body.

She looked down at the bloody pulp of the archer's chest cavity, then to the blade still dripping red. Her voice cracked like melting ice, and her cries broke off into sobs. Felassan pried the dagger from her hands.

"It is over," he repeated, breathless.

She slumped over on her knees, red-soaked fingers curdled and quaking as tears slid down her cheeks. Savage and bare-breasted. Her emotions had not been allowed to flow so openly before. It pained her in a way she hadn't expected. It was uneasy, uncomfortable. Ungovernable. It sat on her chest like a shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; crushing from all sides. Alex had been bashed by the currents, and now she was drowning.

Felassan glanced around the clearing as he wiped a bit of perspiration from his face. Three charred and smoking bodies, one forever frozen in fear, one hardly recognizable, a split in the ground, two small but growing fires in the underbrush, and a small butchered animal in the middle of it all, as if the ambush had been over a piece of game rather than a person. As his gaze returned to the woman in question his brows pulled together.

"I told you to do nothing."

At first, the words didn't reach her right. She was still underwater. Although the stinging was getting worse, and her left arm cried out when she tried to move it.

Felassan got to his feet with a half-formed growl. "Vyn esaya gera assan i’mar’av’ingala."

Although she understood no Elvhen, the inflection was that of scolding. Her right hand reached across to hold her left arm, and what it found made her tears catch in her throat. There was a hole in her tunic...and in her flesh.

The arrow had hit her after all. The close range meant it tore clean through her bicep. Any higher and it could have shattered bone, and in her moments of survival she had ignored it. But now her eyes opened and saw that most of the blood on herself was her own. It was still streaming down her arm, staining the sleeve red.

"You were perfectly protected within my barrier," the elf continued. "You resist my teachings-you resist my direction at every hour. It is almost as if you desire to return to your chains."

Some of the rawness was still exposed; perhaps that was how she mustered the courage to speak back after that. Or his words offended too greatly. Or maybe it was the last straw of others' patronization that broke the wagon wheel. She wasn't sure why she chose to argue her mind, but the words left her anyway.

"I'm trying."

Amusement tainted with something ugly—something she didn't want to look at—morphed his features, and he scoffed. "Trying would imply progress over time. Ane haral mar'len."

"I don't understand."

"Of course not," he bit back spitefully. "Why would you? You are not here."

"I don't understand," she repeated, pleading for an explanation.

And he whirled on her, lines creasing the tattoo on his forehead. "You are still a slave!"

"I am not!" was her gut reaction, the words racing off her tongue.

"You certainly cower like one; speaking of your master as if you expect him to appear at any moment. You have no will or convictions of your own. When I saw you I thought-" the sentence hitched, and he took a breath before continuing. "I thought you would be stronger than this, but it appears I was misguided. You have revealed yourself, and I am thoroughly disappointed." He allowed no time for her to retaliate, and walked off toward their camp. Alex sat confused and angry for a minute before he returned and threw the sack of rations he'd been saving for the desert trek at her feet.

"There," Felassan declared. "Now you can quit fighting with yourself on whether or not to kill me in my sleep. Return to your master, or go out on your own. I do not care. But do not expect me to tolerate any of these lies you have so readily swallowed any longer."

"What lies?" Alex asked, desperate. Her heart was racing, head light. It was hard to breathe. She felt like she was gasping between words. "I-I've done everything you asked. One act of disobedience and I'm to be casted away? I was trying to keep us alive!"

"This is not trying," Felassan replied with an eerie calm that secured his disapproval further into her gut, and he gestured to the corpse beside her. "This is fear. If you make up a foundation out of fear, it will fail you. It is brittle and prone to collapse at the slightest change of the wind."

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

"But you did not think."

"Please," Alex found herself saying. "Don't leave me here. I-I can't...I can't-"

"Then you will perish," he said. "That is not my responsibility."

"But it will be your doing! If-if you would abandon me to die, then you are no better than who you rescued me from."

That arrogant smirk so characteristic to Felassan painted his lips. "You believe this is abandoning you?" His hand gestured around to the slavers. "There will only be more. You do not need me."

"Now that is the boldest lie you've told."

"And when did I lie previous?"

"I...I don't know," Alex admitted. "But you must've. No stranger rescues another then takes them in with unmotivated kindness."

That changed his features. His smirk fell a little, brows raised in what could best be described as surprise. "I did not rescue you."

Her own face contorted in mild confusion. "...you saved me from Noceus. You took me away. Freed me."

Felassan let out a breath. His face relaxed, eyes kind. And he presented a statement to her that she had never considered; something that caused it to click.

"I only offered a hand. It was your own two feet that carried you."

He saw it as her running _with_ him. As someone taking an opportunity presented. Enacting her own free will.

He saw her as an equal.

Felassan wasn't expecting obedience. He was expecting rebellion.

"Then...why are you so angry with me? I acted on my own."

"But for the entirely wrong reason," he replied. And then he laughed. It was stifled and hidden behind his hand, but there, and he sighed. "Regardless, I believe that is the first time you have spoken back to me, or yelled at all. It almost felt like talking with a real person."

As the spike of emotions began to settle down, Alex was uncertain. "You're not actually mad?"

"Oh, I was furious. Perhaps slightly exaggerated, but I believed you needed a push," Felassan shrugged. "Perhaps that magical block is all but gone now that you have allowed your emotions to be what they are."

"So...you're not leaving me?"

"That depends." Felassan's staff shrunk down, and he tucked it into his belt. "Who are you?"

"I'm...Alexandria," she answered warily.

"Do you mean that?" Felassan smiled, and it bolstered her. It was as if he knew that it would. She hadn't heard her real name from herself in years, and it felt good on her tongue.

"I'm Alexandria, and I want to go with you."

"Where?" he encouraged.

"Anywhere but Tevinter. South. The Virthane clan."

Felassan kneeled. Then his hands came to either side of her face, and she saw hope in his violet eyes. She felt it when her insides did not revolt at his touch. When he did not shy away from her tear and blood-stained visage.

"Then that is where I will take you, Alexandria of once Qarinus. Now, let us heal that wound and we can put this day behind us."

"No," Alex refuted softly and glanced at it. "It didn't break anything. I can wrap it to stop the bleeding. I'll need my energy for our journey tonight. I can always begin healing it tomorrow."

Her companion drew back his hands and inclined his head, showing his pride through the upturn of his lips. "Already you have begun the arduous work of rebuilding your foundation of magic. I look forward to seeing what will become of it...if you can keep it up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incaensor - Tevene word meaning a dangerous substance, such as raw lyrium or natron salts. It is often used as derogatory slang for a magic-using slave—something dangerous but useful if controlled.
> 
> Fenedhis - A common curse word like "fuck" or "shit." Literally, "wolf cock."
> 
> Vyn esaya gera assan i’mar’av’ingala. - "You would try to catch an arrow with your teeth." An insult/scolding of one's intelligence.
> 
> Ane haral mar'len. - "You are fearing/tricking yourself."


	5. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of them is better at avoiding than the other, and Alex is healing an arrow wound.

"Where do you go, in your dreams?" Alex asked. Their camp was made, wards set, and Felassan cast that funny temperature spell on them both to avoid overheating once the sun rose. They'd just finished walking and the night would be turning to day soon. The sky was already turning a dusky pink. If they didn't get to sleep soon they'd be hard pressed to get a wink, but it seemed the right time to ask.

A few days had passed since the arrow incident. Alex had torn a strip from the old dress around her waist as a bandage, and had been replacing it each morning after a healing session. So she began her routine again, and tore off the old scrap. The woman reached under her collar to her injured arm and started on healing it more. A faint light came from beneath the blood-stained linen. Her shoulder relaxed as the magic flowed into her, and more skin was stitched together.

"That almost sounds as if you are initiating polite conversation."

"I thought you'd be delighted to talk more about yourself," Alex quipped.

"Then you mistake my enjoyment of like-minded conversation for vanity."

"Is it conversation when all you do is lecture me?"

"Well which is it? Am I so full of ego that I can speak of no one but myself, or do your ears burn from all my lessons?"

"Both, somehow." She glanced over and flashed a small grin at the elf.

He echoed it. "It would probably help if I had a partner who engaged with me. As it is, I am forced to ramble about what I know. Which—as it so happens—is me."

"And Fen'harel."

Felassan drew back some. "Do I mention him so often?"

"More than the other gods, at least. If I had any sense I'd imagine I should call you a heretic."

"By Dalish standards perhaps," he scoffed.

"That's all right," Alex replied calmly as she peeked under her shirt to see the progress. There was still a rather marvelous crater in her arm where the wound was reforming from the inside out, but at least it didn't bleed anymore. "I'm in no position to judge. Besides, if all heretics are so kind, perhaps there should be more of them."

Felassan groaned as he laid back, using the sack of rations for a pillow. He tucked a hand under his head; the other twisting the end of his braid between fingers. "You are not tired of hearing about my barbaric beliefs then? You do not wish to convert me to your blessed cult for Andraste?"

"I've never been especially religious. From the stories you tell, Fen'harel always gave people choices of their own." She shrugged with her good arm. "I don't predict I'll be tired of hearing about that any time soon."

"Mind you, I do not dislike the idea of a benevolent Maker, but that is not what your people worship. Not typically. They praise a mortal woman for speaking to a god. Our stories all begin with one elf or another getting help from a god. You understand why I do not fall on my knees immediately. I admire the goal, of course. To free the world of slavery is a righteous one, but your people have forgotten it is not up for interpretation."

"You've heard The Chant then?"

"More clearly than you humans ever have, altering it every half century to suit your political squabbles."

"The Chant is altered?"

"Did you not know?"

"How could I? It's not as if I was allowed to educate myself. What's changed?"

Felassan barked out a laugh. "An elf teaching a human about Andraste? You have kept your comedic wit hidden too long, da'era."

"Won't you tell me? Please?"

"I thought I lectured too much."

"That doesn't mean I don't like it."

His head flopped to one side to look at her directly, violet shining in the dimness. It was difficult to see his expression, but he did not sound unkind when answering, "perhaps another time. You must recover from our daring escape. Slave hunters do not care if you had a bad nights' rest."

Alex ceased her healing then tugged at the clothing by her hip, acting as if she were pulling the shirt down. Felassan's eyes flickered to the movement. And his tone went soft.

"You have done that a fair amount since our fight."

"What?"

"Itch at that spot."

"Do I?" Alex wasn't aware she had any habits.

"Are the clothes I gave causing a rash?"

"No..."

"Then why the discomfort?"

"Why did you never answer my question?"

"Which one?"

"About your dreams. I never see you in the Fade. Aren't somniari supposed to be like beacons of energy?"

"Perhaps we both have topics we wish to distract from."

"That's not reassuring, you know," said Alex. "It's hard enough to trust you without you acting suspicious all the time."

"Me?" he feigned. "I am a paragon of trust and innocence."

"So you're wholly without vice or sin?" She shook her head slightly. "No," she denied, tone grim and quiet. "You don't strike me as quite that boring."

Lips pulled back over teeth as his eyes slid to stare at the sky. "Is this your way of complimenting me? I am flattered, I must say. I am not, however, easily dissuaded. If I am being impertinent, tell me and I will cease, but I have a little feeling in my stomach that says what you are hiding is of some significance to the chances of our survival." His mouth twisted down. "Or that could be the days of dried meat."

"Your feeling is wrong," she answered, looking away. "It's an irritation. Nothing more."

"Did you get horrifically drunk and get matching tattoos with an old lover?" Felassan joked. "Is it their name? Is it spelled wrong?"

"Do you dream of a consort of demons?"

"Please," he laughed. "How unoriginal do you think I am?"

"A harem?"

"More entertaining, but still lacking imagination. Besides, there's more than just demons in the Fade. Most denizens of the Fade are spirits. But this is not the time for lessons. It is the hour for guessing secrets. And I guess yours has something to do with your old master."

"And yours is to do with spirits?"

His silence was his answer. His fingers ceased their fiddling and rested on his stomach. The braid slipped off his chest and hit the sand.

Alex leaned forward onto her knees and cocked her head. "It's a scar," she said. "A brand made with Noceus' ring. The symbol marks me as his property."

Felassan hummed. "But why the hip? Why not somewhere more visible? To display you, so to speak."

"It was...it was in case anyone got any ideas about...using me without his permission. They'd see I belong to Noceus, and know if they went through with it there would be dire consequences."

"Ah...a warning as well as a brand. Why not heal it then?"

Alex dropped her gaze to the sand. "It's already scarred. Even the most powerful mages cannot turn back time."

Felassan hummed again. The tone was less thoughtful and more an avoidant transition. "We are almost at our destination."

"What about your spirits?"

"When you will understand my answers, I will give them." Felassan rolled away from her to his side. "Get some rest."


End file.
